Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

“Nathan,” she whispered, “my hair… my hair wasn’t this long. How did the woman who worked on it this afternoon make it longer?”

“Ah, well, she didn’t. I used some magic to do it. I thought it would look better if it was just a bit longer. You don’t object, I pray.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s lovely.”

Her soft brown hair was done in ringlets, with delicate violet ribbons tied into them. She moved her head. The ringlets sprang up and down, and swayed side to side. Clarissa had once seen a woman of standing come to Renwold, and she had hair like this. It was the most beautiful hair Clarissa had ever seen. Now, Clarissa’s hair looked just like that.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her shape was so… shapely. All those hard, tight things under her dress had somehow rearranged her figure. Clarissa’s face blushed to see her bosom straining up the way it did, half exposed for all to see.

She had always known, of course, that women like Manda Perlin weren’t really shaped as they appeared. She knew that when they had their clothes off, their shapes were not a great deal different from any other woman’s, but Clarissa had never known just how much of it was due to the dresses those attractive women wore.

In the mirror, in this dress, with her hair done in such a fashion and with the paint on her face, she looked the equal of any of them. Perhaps older, but that age seemed only to add bearing to what she saw; not a spent, unattractive quality, as she had always thought.

And then she saw the ring in her lip.

It was gold, not silver.

“Nathan—” she whispered. “What happened to the ring?”

“Oh, that. Well, it wouldn’t do to have you supposedly a concubine to the emperor himself and carrying his little emperor heir, and have a silver ring through your lip. Everyone knows that the emperor only brings those with gold rings to his bed.

“Besides, you were wrongly marked with a silver ring. It should have been gold from the beginning. Those men were just plain blind.” He gestured in a grand fashion. “I, of course, am a man of vision.” He held his hand out toward the mirror. “Look for yourself. That woman is too beautiful to wear anything but a gold ring.”

In the mirror, the woman staring back was getting tears in her eyes. Clarissa wiped a finger across her lower lids. She feared to ruin the paint the woman had put on her face when her hair was being curled.

“Nathan, I don’t know what to say. You have done magic. You have made a plain woman into something…”

“Beautiful,” he finished.

“But why?”

His face screwed up with an odd expression. “Are you daft? I couldn’t very well have you looking plain,” He swept a hand down, indicating himself. “No one would believe a man as dashing as myself would be seen with a woman any less stunning.”

Clarissa grinned. He didn’t look so old to her as he had seemed when she had first met him. He really did look dashing. Dashing, and distinguished.

“Thank you, Nathan, for having faith in me, in more ways than one.”

“It’s not faith; it’s vision for what others are too blind to see. Now they do.”

She glanced to the curtain where the dressmaker had disappeared. “But this is all so very expensive. This dress alone would cost me near to a year’s wages. And all the other things: the lodging; the coaches; the hats; the shoes; the women who did my hair and face. It all costs so much. You are spending money like a prince on holiday. How can you possibly afford it?”

The sly smile oozed back onto his face. “I’m good at… making money. I could never spend all I can make. Don’t be concerned about it; it means little to me.”

“Oh.” She glanced back at the mirror. “Of course.”

He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that you are more important than petty matters of gold. People are more important than such considerations. If it was my last copper, I would have spent it with no less enthusiasm, or greater worry.”

When the dressmaker finally returned with a selection of stunning dresses, Nathan chose a number for her to try on. Clarissa went into the dressing room with each, and with the aid of the dressmaker’s woman, tried on each. Clarissa didn’t think she would have been able to lace, tie, and button any of them by herself.

Nathan smiled at each dress she came out in, and told the dressmaker he would buy it. By the end of the next hour, Nathan had selected a half dozen dresses, and had passed a handful of gold to the dressmaker. In all her life, she had never imagined a place of such wealth that dresses were already made. It was another measure of how much her life had changed with Nathan; only the very rich, or royalty, would buy dresses this way.

“I will make the necessary alterations, my lord, and have the dresses delivered to the Briar House.” He darted a look at Clarissa. “Perhaps my lord would wish me to leave several of them loose-fitting, to accommodate madam, when she grows with our emperor’s child?”

Nathan waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. I enjoy having her look her best. I will have a seamstress let them out when necessary, or simply purchase others to fit her then.”

It suddenly embarrassed Clarissa to realize that this dressmaker thought that she was concubine not only to the emperor but to Nathan. The ring through her lip, gold though it was, still meant she was nothing more than a slave. A slave would mean little to the emperor, with child or not, gold ring or not.

Nathan boldly told people that he was Emperor Jagang’s plenipotentiary, which kept them furiously bowing and scraping. Clarissa was merely property, shared with the emperor’s trusted agent.

The dressmaker’s sidelong glance finally struck home. She was a whore in his eyes. Maybe a whore in a fine dress, and maybe not a whore by choice, but a whore nonetheless. A whore who was enjoying herself, being dressed in fine clothes and kept by an important man at the finest inn in the city.

The fact that Nathan didn’t think the same thing was all that kept her from running from the dress shop in humiliation.

Clarissa reproached herself. This was the pretense Nathan had crafted for them, to keep them safe. It kept the soldiers they encountered at every turn from hauling her away to a tent. Deprecating glances were a small thing indeed for her to bear in return for all that Nathan had done for her, and for the respect he always showed her. It was what Nathan thought that mattered.

Besides, she was used to disapproving looks—looks of sympathy at best, scorn at worst. People had never looked upon her with favor. Let these people think what they would. She knew she was doing something worthwhile, for a man of worth.

Clarissa lifted her chin as she strutted to the door.

The dressmaker bowed again as they stepped out into the dark street to the waiting carriage. “Thank you, Lord Rahl. Thank you for allowing me to serve the emperor in my small way. The dresses will be delivered before morning, you have my word.”

Nathan waved an offhanded dismissal to the man.

In the dim dining room of the elegant Briar House, Clarissa sat across a small table from Nathan. She now noticed the surreptitious glances she got from the staff. She sat up straighter and put her shoulders back, defying them to have a good look at her bosom. She reasoned that in the murky candlelight, and under all the face paint, they wouldn’t be able to see her face reddening.

The wine warmed her, and the roasted duck finally sated her gnawing hunger. People kept bringing food—fowl and pork and beef, along with gravies and sauces and a variety of side dishes. She nibbled at a few, not wanting to appear a glutton, and afterward she was satisfied.

Nathan ate with zeal, but didn’t overeat. He enjoyed the different dishes, wanting to try them all. The staff hovered around him, slicing meat, pouring sauces, and moving plates and platters around as if he were helpless. He encouraged them, asking for things, sending others away, and in general made himself appear an important man in their midst.

She guessed that he was. He was the emperor’s plenipotentiary; a man not to be crossed. No one

wanted Lord Rahl to be anything but most pleased. If his pleasure required seeing to Clarissa’s desires, they did that, too.

Clarissa was relieved when they were finally shown to their rooms, and Nathan had at last closed the door. She sagged, at last unburdened of the responsibility of acting a fine lady, or a fine whore; she wasn’t exactly sure how to play the part. She did know that she was glad to be away from the eyes that played over her.

Nathan strode around the two rooms, inspecting the painted walls with gold molding applied to form huge, sweeping panels with reverse-curved corners. Rich carpets in deep colors covered nearly every inch of floor. Everywhere there were couches and chairs. One room had several tables, one for taking meals there, another, with a slant top, for writing. The writing table held neatly arranged sheets of paper, silver pens, and gold-topped ink bottles with various colors of ink.

In the other room was the bed. Clarissa had never seen a bed like it. Four elaborately turned posts held up a canopy of lace and rich red fabric with gold designs splashed boldly over it. The bed cover matched. It was a huge bed. She had trouble imagining why such an expanse of bed was needed.

“Well,” Nathan said as he strolled back into the room with the bed, “I guess it will have to do.”

Clarissa giggled. “Nathan, a king would be delighted to sleep in such a room.”

Nathan’s expression contorted in a casual manner. “Perhaps, but I am more than a king. I am a prophet.”

Her smile faded as her mood turned earnest. “Yes, you really are more than a king.”

Nathan went around the room blowing out most of the dozen lamps. He left the one beside the bed, and the one on the dressing stand.

He half-turned, and gestured to the other room. “I’ll sleep on a couch in there. You may have the bed.”

“I’ll take the couch. I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a bed. I’m a simple woman, not accustomed to such grand things. You are. You should have the bed.”

Nathan cupped her cheek. “Get used to them. Take the bed. It would be uncomfortable for me, knowing such a lovely lady was sleeping on a couch. I’m a man of the world, and such things don’t faze me.” He bowed grandly from the doorway. “Sleep well, my dear.” He paused with the door half closed. “Clarissa, I apologize for the looks you had to endure, and for what people might have thought of you, because of my story.”